Horrors of the Frozen Aisle
by LitFan2025
Summary: Sam is desperate for a hunt. Dean wants a weekend off. Yet the happenings at a small-town supermarket gains the boys' attention, and certainly gives them a run for their money. Casefic. With some Hurt!Dean and Hurt!Sam, rated M for violence and strong language.


_**Hey there! I'm finally back to publishing some work again after a hectic time at university. This story is set during season one, at no point in particular. I have rated this fic as being mature merely for violence and bad language, as expected on the show. I hope you enjoy reading this, please feel free to comment - any criticism will be greatly received!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural**_

 **Chapter One**

"I told you there was nothing here, Sam," Dean said, peeling himself up from the hard floor. He stood and began dusting fluff and chips of ice off of the front of his shirt, the blue beam of the torch gripped in his hand refracting diamonds off the crystallised walls.

"Save the 'I-told-you-so' speech," Sam breathed, his voice shaking. His breath misted in front of his face as he stalked over to the door, clumsily searching for the cold, red button that would release the catch. The heavy door swung open, yellow light flooding the freezer.

"There will be no speech," Dean said, fixing a pointedly innocent expression at his brother. He squinted as fluorescent lights blinked to life above him. The harshness of their glare somehow made the freezer seem cooler, and Dean shivered as a fan chugged cold air down on him. He flipped the switch on the torch, trying to preserve the batteries that the tool so hungrily guzzled at. He watched as his brother grabbed a stack of trays that held pastries and pies, pulling them into the icy room. As Sam looked up at him, Dean's face split into a wide smile, and he found he couldn't help the words that tumbled out of his mouth. "But Sammy, I have to say – I told you so."

Sam resisted the urge to grab a frozen pasty and hurl it at his brother. Instead, he returned a particularly bitchy grin to his sibling, which only served to encourage the older Winchester's laughter. Nonchalantly trying to pay no heed to his brother's amusement, Sam continued to push the trolleys back into the freezer, the coolness of the metal burning his numb fingertips.

"If you carry on showing off like that, you may land yourself a job here Sammy," Dean chuckled, slipping past his brother and out into the equally chilly hallway.

Sam rammed the last of the stacks of trays into the compartment with a grunt, slamming the steel door shut on the way out. He turned around, glaring at Dean. "Don't worry about helping out, I'll put everything back how we found it."

"Hey, you're the one who dragged us out here. And I don't remember you crawling all over the floor looking for sulphur or signs of EMF," Dean retorted, stalking off down the corridor. It did not take much effort for Sam to catch up, his long strides matching Dean's as they made their way towards the shop floor. "Oh, wait, that's right! You didn't."

"OK, I get your point. I just thought there was a case here, is all."

"Why, because some crazy employee decided to go on a rampage around the store?" Dean scoffed, stepping back as a woman dashed in front of them, the trolley skidding before her. "It's retail dude, it's enough to send anyone crazy."

"And how would you know?" The thought of Dean working behind a till, or as a trolley-boy made Sam snicker, which he barely managed to conceal as his brother shot him a warning glance.

"We deal with people every day, Sam. It's practically the same."

"Whatever," Sam sighed. Sometimes there was no reasoning with his brother, something which appeared to Sam to have become even more difficult during his time at Stanford. And while he could compile together a convincing court case, Dean was a different matter entirely. Not that that would stop him.

"You've got to admit that it's strange though. Guy gets locked in a freezer, is released, how we don't know. Then he proceeds to trash the shop floor. I mean, there's got to be something else at play here."

"So, you're telling me you wouldn't be pissed if you got shut in a freezer, in the dark, for a couple of hours?" Dean stopped suddenly, staring up at his brother, a glint in his green eyes. "Because I can arrange that."

Dean was making reasonable suggestions, the threat of being shut in a freezer aside, but Sam couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about _Supersavers Supermarket_ in Ackley, Wisconsin. Despite all his research and the facts he had bombarded Dean with, he didn't seem to be making the slightest dent in his brother's uncompromising judgement.

"But what about the electrical disturbances? And the spoiled goods, the cases of food poisoning? They can't all be coincidences."

"They certainly sound it to me. Shit happens Sam, not everything is supernaturally-related. But don't worry," Dean said, stalking off again, his lips twitching into a grin. "This trip won't have been for nothing."

"You do realise the girl behind the customer services desk is taken? She was wearing an engagement ring."

The smile dipped slightly. "It's just a façade, so that she doesn't get hounded by freaks."

"It obviously doesn't work then," Sam smirked.

"Ha-ha, you're hilarious, little brother. She was definitely giving me the eye," Dean said, turning towards the tills. As he reached the conveyor belt, he knelt down, knees cracking in protest. Grabbing a wire basket, he shoved it at his brother's chest. "Anyway, what I meant was, you can buy me beer and pie to make up for dragging me out to a waste of time and energy."

Sam rolled his eyes to the ceiling and accepted the basket that was digging into his ribcage. Heading towards the beer aisle, he twisted around to catch a glance of his brother swaggering over to the customer services desk, his pointed chin held high, shoulders squarely pushed back.

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The incessant beeping of the tills was beginning to numb Dean's brain. "No wonder they all look half dead in here," he muttered.

The cashier sat behind the till glanced up at him, a scowl forming on his pock-marked face.

"No offence, man." Dean grinned down at the receipt in his hand, the small, delicate piece of paper that was a token of his victory. With Anna's phone number scrawled in tiny handwriting across the note, and Sam packing beer and pecan pie into a plastic bag, Dean felt content with his current situation. Maybe he could have some fun this weekend. Maybe Sam would relax for a bit. That was a _big_ 'maybe' however; it seemed that his little brother was hell-bent on finding a case. He knew Sam wanted to keep busy, to distract his mind from the horror and guilt that was swimming around up there. Dean also knew that his little brother wanted their dad, to find closure and peace. And whilst he welcomed Sam's enthusiasm for the hunt with open arms, it was starting to wear thin on Dean. Was a weekend off too much to ask for?

Sam continued to pack items into flimsy carrier bags as Dean took note of what the cashier was passing to him. Reaching out to grab a bag of rocket, Dean caught Sam's gaze narrowing down at him.

"What?"

"Sammy, you may want to try something other than rabbit food sometime," Dean cracked, stuffing the lettuce into a bag.

"It's called a balanced diet, Dean," Sam said, continuing on with the task at hand.

"You call it balanced, I call it boring." Without even surveying his features, Dean could tell that his sibling was sporting a bitchface in response. "Anyway, my diet is balanced; beer in one hand, pie in the other."

Cramming the last pack of beer into the carrier bag, he looked up just in time to see Anna sauntering off towards the customer services desk. He held her brown eyes as she tilted her blonde head to peer over her shoulder, a small, pink grin peeling across her lips. He winked as she caught his gaze, as she swiftly turned away to hide her laughter, shaking her head.

"And if I'm lucky, I'll get dessert tonight," Dean smiled, twisting round to gain appreciation from his brother.

"You're a dog, you know that," Sam said.

"You're the dog, you dog –"

"Gentlemen," a voice interrupted, resounding over Dean's shoulder. "I presume you did not find anything troubling?"

Behind Dean stood the imposing figure of Terry Prescott, manager of the small store. While not tall by any means, Prescott was a large man, his short arms and legs stocky. His barrel chest extended to a full stomach, with the buttons on his navy shirt struggling against the pull of taut fabric. Thin, dark hair receded from his forehead, revealing a large, shining forehead between his keen blue eyes and stubby nose. It was these sharp eyes that now glared expectantly at Dean, narrow lips mimicking a straight line.

"Nothing at all, Mr. Prescott," Dean replied. The manager's features relaxed somewhat, brows drawing away from each other slightly.

"Well, that pleases me to hear. We like to run a tight ship here," Prescott said, smiling awkwardly, as if his face could not quite coordinate his muscles to mimic genuine pleasure. "As a token of gratitude, the shopping bill is on us."

"Thanks man," Dean grinned, shaking hands with the portly manager.

Prescott nodded, once again attempting a smile, and proceeded to handle the transaction. Dean turned around to face his brother, grinning at their predicament. Free shopping, free weekend and a date; Dean couldn't believe his luck. But when he saw his brother's face, his stomach dropped. Sam's dark eyebrows were scrunched together, eyes pinched slightly. He could almost hear the cogs and gears ticking and turning in his brother's brain; he knew _that_ look, and it always meant trouble. Sam was thinking. 

As the brothers made their way out of the exit, bags in hand, Dean could tell Sam was itching to say something, to make a comment.

"Come on, out with it."

Sam sighed, his broad shoulders hitching and falling. "Don't you think it's a bit strange how he dealt with that transaction, like he was trying to pay us off or something."

"Dude, he's a businessman. It's a display of gratitude."

"Or an attempt to keep us away, an appeal to his side."

"Look, Sammy, you're reading far too much into this." They reached the Impala, Dean popping open the trunk and dumping his bag inside.

"Why are you so set against the idea of a case being here?" Sam asked, placing his bag down beside Dean's.

"Why are you so eager for there to be a case here?" Dean retorted. "Can't you enjoy the little free time we have? I understand you want to keep busy, and believe me, I am thrilled by your enthusiasm. But, just take a break dude." Slamming the trunk shut, Dean paced round to the driver's side, wrenched the door open and slid onto the leather seats.

Straightening up and walking round to the passenger door, Sam noticed how empty the place was. He found it odd that for a small town, the store would be so quiet in the middle of the day. The carpark was so still that the woman watching him looked out of place. Sam met her shaded gaze, her vibrant red hair falling across her face and forehead, as she stood in the shadow of a tree that towered above her. She did not break Sam's stare, instead challenging him with her own determined glare.

"Would you quit daydreaming Sammy, and get your ass in the car," Dean called from inside the Impala.

Sam swung the heavy door open and sunk inside, ducking his head to fit under the low roof. Dean revved the engine and slowly pulled out of the lot, Bob Seger's deep, gravelly tones humming through the speakers. When Sam looked up and out the window, the woman had disappeared.

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"Really Sam? You're just going to spend the night in this crappy room?" Dean asked. He stood before a full-length mirror, something uncommon to the standard motel rooms he was familiar with. His reflection was distorted into strange shapes and patterns in the warped glass, watching as his calloused fingers deftly arranged the buttons on his favourite plaid shirt.

"I'll be fine, Dean," Sam murmured, his eyes remaining trained on the laptop before him. "I'm old enough and ugly enough to look after myself."

"Got the ugly part right," Dean quipped.

Glancing past his own reflection, he watched his brother take notes, the brightness of the screen washing the colour out of his face. Dean sighed, knowing he had not got through to his sibling earlier. Sam had grown up to be just as hard-headed as him, and in the time they had spent apart, his little brother had almost become a completely different person. Sure, Sam looked the same, dressed the same, his dark hair still the same mop on his head. But he had become more independent, intelligent and strong in the years he had been at Stanford, that much was clear to Dean. He saw it in the way they hunted; in how his little brother now took the lead in interviews; in how he spoke more confidently in formulating a plan of action.

But Sam had also suffered, had lost his girlfriend and his attempt at normality in another supernaturally-induced fire. Dean still saw the child he had raised in his now-older, little brother. And with the tragedies he had faced, Dean felt the need to watch over Sam more than ever.

"Sammy, I know you can look after yourself. But you can't spend the whole night moping around in this rat-hole. You do that every day that ends in 'y'," Dean said. "You need to get out and experience life."

"And you'll be experiencing life with that girl from the supermarket?" Sam countered.

"Hopefully more," Dean smirked. "You're missing my point. You need a break too. You can't work all the time, you're gonna burn yourself out." He paused, wincing at his choice of words. Sam, however didn't respond to the latter comment, though Dean wasn't sure whether this was out of choice or missing the meaning.

"Someone's got to do the research."

 _You're really like a brick wall sometimes Sammy, there's no getting past you,_ Dean sighed. "That's not my point. You're becoming obsessed." Just like Dad, he wanted to say, but he bit his tongue. There was no point in going down that rocky path.

Sam shook his head, reverting his attention back to the laptop. Dean knew he had lost the argument, or that at least for now, it was put on hold. Dean finished getting ready, smoothing his shirt down over his torso.

"At least get some rest, don't sit staring at that screen all night," Dean ordered, trying his best to imitate his father's stern tone. "You don't wanna damage those peepers."

Sam mumbled a response as Dean shrugged on his jacket. Grabbing his battered keys from the sideboard, he headed out the door and to the Impala.

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"Hey handsome," Anna stood at the door, smiling down at him.

"You look amazing," Dean said, peeling himself out of the car.

"I know, I scrub up well for someone who works behind a counter all day." The warm light of the interior glowed behind her, highlighting her figure in her simple black dress. "You don't look too bad yourself," she smiled, winking at Dean as he met her at the doorway.

"Well, I had a free afternoon and a bottle of bubble bath," Dean smirked, watching as Anna's dark eyes crinkle in laughter. "You ready to go?"

"I was thinking we could have some drinks here first? If you'd like?"

"That'd be awesome," Dean said, following her inside as she led him into a small living room.

"Excuse the mess," Anna called, disappearing into what he assumed was the kitchen. "Take a seat."

Dean placed himself down on the sofa, perching on the edge of the soft beige cushions. Glancing around the room, Dean wasn't sure of what mess he was supposed to be seeing. There was a blanket strewn over the sofa, and a thin layer of dust covering the glass on the coffee table, but other than that, the place was spotless. He felt himself sinking back into the seat, the cream walls and gold hue of the lights warming him. He felt comfortable for the first time in a while, after the dingy motel rooms and run-down bars he had grown used to frequenting.

"What would you like to drink? I've got beer, wine," he could hear he rifling through cupboards, the sound of glasses clanking and clashing with each other. "Tequila?"

"Tequila?" Dean sputtered, laughing. "A little too early in the night for shots I think. A beer will do fine."

"Beer it is."

A few minutes later Anna reappeared, a glass of red wine in one hand, and a bottle of beer in the other. She caught Dean staring at her as she handed him his beer.

"What? Have I spilt something down me?" she asked, looking down at her glass.

"No, you look fantastic," Dean smiled. She did look fantastic, with her blonde hair arranged in curls around her face and neck. Her dark brown eyes seemed so warm and inviting as she sat herself down beside him, crossing one slender leg over another. Coughing, Dean attempted to explain himself. "I just didn't have you down for a red wine type of girl."

"Really? Thought white would be more my kind of thing?" she laughed, the red liquid sloshing as she tilted the glass in her hand.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."

"Don't worry about it. In truth, I've never tried it before." She leaned closer to Dean, lowering her voice to a husky whisper. "Maybe I just wanted to seem classy, to impress you."

"Oh sweetheart, I'm already impressed."

Anna giggled, taking a hearty sip of wine. Dean noticed that the silver ring still sat on her finger, the diamond flashing in the light.

"Ain't half bad," she stated, staring down at the dark liquor in the glass. "So, tell me, what were you doing in the store today?"

"Just checking the health and safety requirements, making sure all the equipment was in order," Dean said, pausing to take a swig of his beer, lips popping off the glass. "That nothing was off."

"We could have done with you a few months ago. It was so awful what happened to Pete," Anna sighed, soft eyes watering slightly.

"What happened to Pete?"

"There was an accident in the warehouse. Some safety code had not been followed. Someone had stacked a bunch of crates too high, and they fell on him. Crushed him."

 _Maybe Sammy had been right,_ Dean mused, thinking back to his little brother working away back at the motel room. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's alright, it happened a while ago now. Just shocked us all at the store really," she took another sip, eyes downcast to the floor. She lifted her head up suddenly, eyes blinking rapidly away at the tears. "Anyway, I'm lowering the mood. Let's talk about something else. Who is that guy you work with?"

"Oh, Sammy," Dean said, grinning. "He's my brother."

"Really, you work with your brother? That must be nice."

 _Sometimes, when he isn't being a stubborn pain-in-the-ass_ , Dean thought. "Yeah, I guess it is. We've only recently started working together again, he was studying for a while, but he suffered a bereavement. So we travel all over the place. I've kinda looked out for him my whole life, so it's great to have him by side."

He heard a cough, and the smash of a glass. He turned to the source of the sound, catching the sight of Anna's face as he did. Her once-pale cheeks were now shaded a violent red, crimson draining over her jaw and running down her neck. Black tears streamed from her brown eyes, the eyeliner beneath her lashes smudged. Initially Dean thought she was crying over what he had told her, but then he noticed her eyes darting from side to side, her small fingers scratching at her throat. The ring sparked and flashed in the lamplight, as blood dribbled from between her pursed lips. Eventually she opened her mouth, her jaw working to voice her agony.

"Oh god," Dean muttered, reaching for her hands. "What is it, can you speak?"

She managed to make a sound, her voice once again a whisper, yet now it had lost its seductive touch. "Can't… bre-breath," she uttered, as blood danced and lapsed around her tongue, leaking over lips and chin as she tried to speak.

"Help…"

 _ **A/N: The 'engagement ring as a façade' scenario is inspired by an opening scene discussing wedding rings in the show,**_ **'Scrubs' (5X23 – 'My Urologist').**

 _ **Thanks for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment, your feedback feeds my soul ;)**_


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